Broken Lullaby (1932)

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BROKEN LULLABY

Paris, November 11, 1919.

The first anniversary

of Armistice Day.

This is a day of joy and happiness

for all of us.

Let us be thankful

that peace has come.

Peace.

Let us look to our tomorrows

and forget our yesterdays.

Peace on earth

to men of goodwill.

Father, help me.

I can't get away from his eyes.

I k*lled a man.

k*lled?

m*rder*d.

Come.

I am waiting for your confession,

my son.

Father, I wasn't born

to be a m*rder*r.

I was a musician. I played

first violin in an orchestra.

I used to be so happy.

My whole life was devoted to music.

I wanted to bring

beauty to this world.

And I brought m*rder.

There's no music left.

Nothing in my ears but the sound

of a dying man.

You k*lled a man.

- Why did you k*ll?

- Why?

Why?

I don't know.

For no reason.

For no reason at all.

And he didn't even raise a hand

to defend himself.

He just looked at me.

Looked at me.

"Why?

Whom am I going to k*ll and for what?

For two years I lived in Paris

and I loved the French.

And now I am told to k*ll them."

"They can't k*ll everybody...

Maybe I'll be lucky.

I can't write any more.

The earth is shaking.

Auf Wiedersehen, Auf Wiedersehen."

I opened his coat.

I found more letters.

They were in German.

I could read them.

They make German boys learn French

and French boys learn German.

And when we grow up

they make us k*ll each other.

Walter Holderlin.

22 years old,

Falsburg, Baden.

Berg Street, number 64.

The man I k*lled.

My son,

the agony of your soul

is quite unnecessary.

You may go forth clear and

of conscience without a stain.

You are free from crime.

Father, how could I have done it?

You have done nothing but your duty.

My duty?

Duty?

Duty to k*ll?

Duty to k*ll?

Is this the only answer I can get

in the house of God?

I give you absolution,

not only for your sins

but for your blasphemy.

I came here to find peace

and you haven't given it to me.

- She lost her son.

- And she forgave the murderers.

God will help you, my boy.

Come with me.

- Come, my son.

- Son? Son?

Yes, he was somebody's son.

He had a mother too.

You must forget.

You must calm down.

Do you think his mother,

if I came to her on my knees...

- Quiet, boy, quiet.

- You think she could forgive me?

Of course she could.

But now you must forget.

Father, I know his name,

and where he's from, I could go.

We'll talk about that tomorrow.

No, father.

I'm going to his country.

I'll see his people.

Father, do you think I'm mad?

Am I?

Nine million people

got slaughtered

and they're already talking

about another w*r.

And the next time

they'll be 90 million.

And the world calls that sane.

Well, then I want to be insane.

I k*lled one man,

Walter Holderlin,

and I can't escape.

God knows, I'm not a madman.

Go there, my boy,

to his country.

Go to his people.

God is with you.

There.

Now, Fritz, you be a good boy.

Behave yourself.

No more fighting.

I didn't want to fight him,

he's bigger than me.

But what should I do

when he calls me a Frenchman?

Then you give him a good...

No. No, don't do it.

Don't do it, Fritz.

Hold yourself in.

And save it up for a real Frenchman.

Do you understand?

No, father.

You will, my son.

You will.

Goodbye, young man.

But nobody's going to call me

a Frenchman.

- Great boy.

- He'll do.

I hope so. Some day.

How do you do, Fraulein Elsa?

Herr Schultz,

how many times have I told you?

I didn't come to see you.

I want to consult the doctor.

I'm a sick man, very sick.

Heart trouble.

Dr. Schultz,

what's your trouble?

Doctor, I'm afraid I have to

disappoint you. I'm not a sick man.

On the contrary, I wouldn't be here

if I weren't in perfect condition.

Dr. Holderlin, I came here

to talk with you about Elsa.

Elsa? I don't...

I know, it's a delicate matter,

but we must face the facts.

What are the facts?

Here's a young girl,

she was engaged to a young man

who died bravely

on the field of battle.

May I take this opportunity

to express my heartfelt sympathies.

Your son was a hero.

A hero.

But I'm sure this bereavement

must be extremely painful.

Let's not discuss it, please.

Quite right,

let's not talk about it.

Let's forget. The w*r's over.

Life must go on.

To make a long story short.

I wish to marry Elsa.

Is she in love with you?

Well...

Considering my business

and social standing,

I hardly think there will be

any objection from the young lady.

Did you say something?

Not yet.

Doctor, let me assure you,

I'll do everything that I can

to help you forget...

the loss of...

Wasn't the name

of your son Walter?

What a coincidence.

My name is Walter too.

You are absolutely right,

Herr Schultz. Life must go on.

That's exactly what Walter said

before he left.

I remember the day.

And even in his last letter...

"Elsa, promise me this.

If anything should happen to me,

if I thought your happiness

would be ruined,

then indeed

death would be bitter."

Very touching.

I know exactly how you feel.

No you don't.

If you did, you wouldn't be here.

I wonder if I could have a minute

with Frau Holderlin?

Don't you dare. Herr Schultz,

leave those two people alone.

Leave me alone.

Leave the four of us alone.

Goodbye, Herr Schultz.

I only want to be with him

a few moments.

He was so young. So young.

- A fine boy.

- He would have been twenty today.

Twenty?

It doesn't seem possible.

How time flies.

It only seems like yesterday

since I put 17 candles

on his birthday cake.

- He was such a tall boy.

- Nearly six feet.

But he was such a puppy.

Romping around,

always falling over things.

And always hungry.

It's a wonderful thing

to watch a growing boy eat.

How he liked cinnamon cakes.

How did you know?

He was always around my kitchen

on Saturdays when I baked.

He never told me.

He loved them.

How do you make cinnamon cake?

Well you take a cup of flour

and half a cup of shortening,

and a dash of baking powder,

- two cups of sugar.

- Two?

I always use one.

Well, I'll know better next time.

Don't cry anymore, my dear.

They must be somewhere,

our boys.

And I'm sure they can see us.

I don't think they'd like us

to be crying all the time.

We must learn not to weep

and to love what we have left.

There are so many years

ahead of us.

Father, you had a hard day today?

No, no. A wonderful day.

Everything was fine.

A great day.

Marvellous soup.

You know, I think good times

are coming back again.

- The whole town looks different.

- You should see the shops now.

Yes, you'd hardly believe

there was ever a w*r.

It's the truth, isn't it?

- Good evening

- Good evening.

- Want to see the doctor?

- Yes.

Someone to see the doctor.

I told him the doctor is eating.

You shouldn't send people away.

I didn't. I just said

the doctor is having dinner.

However, I said, I can talk

with the doctor, but he said no.

He'll come back some other time.

Peculiar fellow.

Comes here to see the doctor

and then doesn't want to.

Seemed to be rather relieved.

Fraulein.

A Frenchman.

He's been here before.

Twice.

I got suspicious of him

so I talked to him.

You know what he did?

He gave me a tip.

10 francs.

French money.

Dr. Holderlin?

Yes. Come in.

Come in, sit down.

- Doctor, I don't know how...

- Just a moment, please.

Be seated.

Name?

Paul Renard.

Address?

Hotel Kaiserhof.

A stranger here, huh?

- Yes.

- Where are you from?

Paris.

A Frenchman?

Yes.

A Frenchman.

Yes, I am.

That can't be possible.

Let me look at you.

It's hard to realise.

A Frenchman sitting here,

under my own roof.

Get out.

- Get our of my house!

- No.

I came here to see you.

You must listen to me.

Oh, France is talking, huh?

Victorious France.

- Dictating, giving orders.

- Doctor, you must understand.

Understand?

There can be no understanding

between you and me.

Millions of dead lie between us.

A dead world!

- You were a soldier?

- For three years.

And you're alive.

You k*lled Germans?

- I...

- Shut up!

The French k*lled him.

To me, every Frenchman

is a m*rder*r of my son.

What can I do for you?

Father...

Oh, pardon me.

Mother!

- She was there.

- Where?

I just came from

the grave of your son.

From my son's grave?

I am Walter's mother.

Welcome to our home.

Let me look at you.

A Frenchman...

Putting flowers

on my son's grave.

Thank you for the flowers.

You knew Walter?

Yes.

- You met him in France?

- Yes.

- In Paris?

- And you didn't forget him.

I can't forget him.

God bless you.

Please, forgive me.

But here I am in the house

where he lived

with his father,

his mother

his...

His fiancée.

His fiancée.

I cam here to talk about him.

And now...

Oh God!

It's so difficult.

You don't know what it means to us

to have you here.

It's just as if

you've brought Walter back again.

- Tell us about him.

- Everything you know.

Everything you remember.

How did you meet him?

- When did you see him last?

- Tell us about when you last saw him?

When I saw him... the last time...

He was happy?

Happy?

He was very happy.

- It was in Paris?

- Yes, Paris.

We went out together.

Two friends.

We went out together,

we had a great time.

A wonderful time.

What an evening.

You made them very happy.

And me too.

I'm glad my coming

was not a mistake.

Oh, no, no.

It was inspiration.

That could only have been

given to you by God.

You made us feel alive again.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Do you like that dress?

- Yes, I like it very much.

- Well you're wrong.

That dress is for a brunette.

Here is a dress for you.

Listen, I'll tell you a secret.

Remember, you must not

repeat this to a soul.

It's a French model.

- It's really very pretty.

- Made for you.

I haven't sold you a dress

in a long while, Fraulein.

It's about time you got one.

Let me tell you, a young girl

should keep up with the styles.

It's bad to be left behind.

This is good for four years, because

it's two years ahead of the style.

- Come in and slip it on.

- No, thanks. I haven't time today.

I tell you what, as it's you,

I'll make a special price.

- Take it away for 295,50.

- Some other time.

Together,

walking along by the wall.

- Did you really see it?

- With my own eyes.

Good morning.

- After you, Fraulein Anna.

- We're in no hurry.

Thanks.

Five lamb chops please.

Did you say five?

Yes, five.

And tomorrow I want pig's knuckles.

Also for five.

Yes, Fraulein Anna.

And don't think you'll get one word

out of me about that Frenchman

- Not a word.

- What Frenchman?

You know very well what Frenchman.

The one who is in love with

Fraulein Elsa.

- In love?

- He doesn't know it, but he is.

- I'll be back in a minute.

- Me too.

Frau Everett!

Frau Schmidt!

Frau Oberkirtner!

Frau Kugel!

Come and look.

Adolph, look.

I can hardly believe

it's Wednesday already.

No, Paul, it's Thursday.

Thursday?

How the days go.

I love this little town.

I wish you could stay here.

Is there very much

you're missing at home?

No.

Nothing.

- Elsa...

- Yes, Paul.

- A toast, gentlemen.

- Prost!

Now gentlemen,

if I walk in Paris

on the boulevard I expect to see

Frenchmen, naturally.

And plenty of them.

In fact, too many.

- Prost.

- Prost, Herr Schultz.

Prost, gentlemen.

But when I walk

on a German street

in a German city,

under a German sky...

- Pardon me, there's no more goulash.

- No goulash?

Impossible.

Why print it if you don't have it?

There is enough of our country

occupied by foreign soldiers

- Who knows if they'll ever leave?

- Why don't they let our cities alone?

- Well, bring me sauerbraten.

- Yes, sir.

And a juicy piece!

Gentlemen, let us face the facts.

Sauerbraten for Herr Schultz,

plenty of fat.

- Who is this Frenchman?

- That's what I'd like to know.

What's his business here?

Gentlemen.

I may as well tell you.

I've come to the conclusion

he's a spy.

The porter told me he has

in his room

a violin case, locked.

He never opens it.

Doesn't surprise me at all,

not at all.

Now, gentlemen,

let me ask you one little question.

What is in this violin case?

What can be in this violin case?

Maybe a violin.

There you are,

that's what's wrong with us.

Always trusting,

believing anybody.

A Frenchman comes along

with a violin case, locked, mind you,

and we take it for granted

it contains a violin.

We never learn.

Well, my friends, good morning.

Same round table, same chairs,

same old friends

and Herr Schultz.

Waiter.

- Nine beers, please.

- None for me, please.

No?

All right. Eight beers.

Better make it seven, doctor.

- One beer, please.

- Yes, sir.

I hope I'm not intruding.

Not at all, doctor.

Very glad to have you here.

In fact, we were

just thinking about you.

Well I'm not sorry I came then.

Why don't you bring

your friends along?

You mean my friend.

Well maybe I will.

He came here from France

to put flowers

on my son's grave.

He is my guest.

My wife likes him,

Elsa likes him.

And I love him.

Well, there's only one thing left.

Let's sing The Marseillaise.

I haven't done any singing,

Herr Schultz, since my son died.

- And who k*lled him?

- And my son?

- And my son?

- And my two sons?

No one here can tell me

the meaning of death

or the meaning of hatred.

I've drunk deep of both of them.

And so, I tell you,

have the French!

Who sent that young man out

to k*ll Germans?

And who sent my boy,

and your boy, and your boy,

and your two boys?

Who gave them b*ll*ts

and gas and bayonets?

We, the fathers!

Here and on the other side!

We're too old to fight

but we're not too old to hate.

We're responsible!

When thousands

of other men's sons were k*lled

we called it victory

and celebrated with beer.

And when thousands

of ours sons were k*lled

they called it victory

and celebrated with wine.

Fathers drink to the death of sons!

My heart isn't with you

any longer, old men.

My heart is with the young,

dead and living,

everywhere, anywhere.

I stood in front of this hotel

when my son marched by.

He was going to his death,

and I cheered.

Excuse me. You were a friend

of Walter Holderlin, weren't you?

May I introduce myself?

Schultz is my name.

- You're from Paris, aren't you?

- I am.

- Going back soon?

- I don't know.

Oh, you ought to stay here.

Of course,

I guess Paris is a great city.

Lots of fun there.

Pretty girls. But then I guess

there's nothing wrong with our girls.

Listen,

you're not having

such a bad time here. How about it?

If you say one more word...

Schultz!

Sir?

My bill, please.

I'm checking out.

Yes, sir. Right away.

- Has Paul come?

- Father, will you lie down?

I'll tell you when he comes.

You've had a very exciting day.

Yes, I told them.

What time is it?

Mother,

have you ever stopped to think

that some day Paul may leave us?

No. Elsa...

I know.

But when I first met you

you were living in Dresden.

Now you're living in Falsburg.

Are you going to lie down,

or aren't you?

- Good afternoon, Herr Paul.

- Good afternoon.

How are you, my boy?

Come on, take off you coat.

Elsa. Elsa!

Yes, father?

Paul...

- Pretty, huh?

- Beautiful.

I'm very happy.

Elsa.

Yes, Paul?

I'm going away.

You're going away?

I came to say goodbye.

You're going away? Why?

Elsa?

Yes, mother.

That was worrying me.

It breaks the line.

- Thank you, mother.

- Now it's nicer.

What is it, Paul?

Tell me.

I... I have to go to Paris.

But... you're coming back?

No.

Look at me, Paul.

Now, tell me.

I don't belong here.

Go on.

- The whole town will tell you.

- What?

Elsa, I've got to go.

I have no right to be here.

Who has a better right?

I love you, Paul.

No, Elsa.

It can't be.

- You don't know what you're saying.

- You love me too, and you know it.

God help me.

It's true.

What are you afraid of?

I'm not afraid.

My conscience is clear.

I'm willing to face everybody.

I'll walk up the street with you,

arm in arm.

Let them open

their windows and doors.

Let them look. I'll tell them:

"Yes, we love each other.

Yes, the w*r is over."

Yes, the w*r is over!

And he's dead, buried underground,

and I'm alive,

in his house,

and in love with his...

And what of it?

"Dearest Elsa."

This is his last letter.

It was written the day...

the day he died.

The 22nd of October.

It was found by his body.

He wrote it to me,

but he meant it for both of us.

"Here I am in the trenches.

Any moment an attack

might begin.

I have a revolver, a g*n,

a bayonet and a hand grenade.

And before God,

I don't know why.

Whom am I going to k*ll?

And for what?

For two years I lived in Paris

and I loved the French.

And now I am told to k*ll them.

The noise is getting awful.

How much longer will I live?

And when I die,

who will benefit by it?

Elsa, promise me this.

If anything should happen to me,

Elsa,

if I thought your happiness

would be ruined,

then indeed death would be bitter.

Don't show this letter

to father and mother,

it might frighten them.

Maybe it will never reach you anyway.

The noise is getting worse.

You can't imagine.

The French have opened up.

It's going to be a terrific battle.

But they can't k*ll everybody.

Some of us will be left. Maybe..."

"Maybe I'll be lucky.

I can't write any more.

The earth is shaking.

Auf Wiedersehen, Auf Wiedersehen."

You read his letter before.

When?

Where?

I read it...

I read it... in the trenches.

Who are you?

- Answer me.

- I didn't know who he was.

He was a German soldier,

I was a French soldier.

- There was an attack...

- You?

You...

Yes.

I k*lled him.

Now may I go?

Why did you come here?

- What did you want from us?

- Forgiveness, mercy.

I wanted to confess, but I couldn't.

Why did you stay here?

Why didn't you go away

the next day? The day after that?

Mrs. Holderlin, There's something

I want to say to you.

Yes, Paul?

I'll say it for him.

Sit down, mother.

Mother, for three years

you've suffered.

There's been nothing

but grief and emptiness.

But, mother, it's over.

It's over now.

That is what Paul wanted to tell you.

His life too

was shattered by the w*r.

He had nothing to live for.

And then, he came here.

Like a blessing.

And you, mother,

you opened your doors wide.

You took him into your arms

and he...

He returned your embrace.

Mother, you smiled again.

It took you out of hell into heaven

and he won't drop you back again.

No, mother.

Paul loves you.

Paul is going to stay here.

Father!

They must never know the truth.

They mustn't even guess it.

Let me go, Elsa.

Run away, k*ll yourself.

That's easy.

And leave them behind

with two sons to forget.

I won't let you.

You won't k*ll Walter a second time.

- You're going to live for them.

- Live? Here in this house?

- Face them every day?

- You've got to do it.

- You'll be here looking at me?

- I don't matter. Neither do you.

It's them we have to think of.

My son.

You mustn't be afraid

to make us happy.

Take it, my boy.